


I See You

by Muykke



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bureaucracy, Character Development, Childhood Trauma, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone is Not Innocent, Flashbacks, M/M, MACUSA is a Mess, Male-Female Friendship, Manipulative Behavior, Much plot, Nightmares, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Percival Graves has secrets, Plot Twists, Possessive Behavior, Protective Queenie Goldstein, Queenie Goldstein is a Sweetheart (in case you had any doubts), Tags to be added, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, character backstory, who doesn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-08-11 13:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muykke/pseuds/Muykke
Summary: For those of you who came for the pairing, please be warned that this is not going to be a nice and loving relationship.My version of the story begins when Tina traps Newt and Jacob in the suitcase. Percival Graves does not get his identity stolen and he does take Credence in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Please read the tags and Summary info carefully: this is your last warning. I will be adding more tags that will be relevant for future chapters. 
> 
> The first chapter is just a setting of who's doing what and why.
> 
> The outline for the whole story is written till the very end. The other chapters are currently being written and betaed, so stay tuned.
> 
> Also, I express my sincere and endless gratitude to my Beta Unne, without whom I never would have published a single fic.
> 
> P.S. All the links info is from harrypotter.wikia.com

During his career, Director of Magical Security Percival Graves had many bad days. Past several weeks were particularly disastrous. Magical outbursts of an unknown nature are enough to stir up a wasp's nest that Magical World has been these days.  
  
Graves has been spending nights in his office for several nights in a row. His Floo is open for his trusted Aurors 24/7. He's ordered them to immediately report of any suspicious activity directly to him. Because who has the time to lay back in a comfortable armchair when the War is yet again at your door?  
  
However, out of all the bad days, the December 7th on 1926 can possibly make a top ten.  
  
***  
  
Graves is wakened up by the whooshing sound from the Floo and a sudden exclamation:  
  
“Mister Graves, a No-Maj Senator is murdered! At the fundraising dinner! In front of dozens of No-Majes!”  
  
It's John Loyell, one of his men, who does most of the field work these days. He stumbles out of the fireplace shaking the powder off his suit.  
  
“The cause?” Graves asks shortly. He is already on his feet, fixing his tie.  
  
“The cause of death is yet unknown, Sir. But the witnesses describe it this dark force, the same as the last several times.”  
  
With the only difference that at the previous times there were no human casualties, Graves thinks.  
  
“We've already sent a team of Obliviators.”  
  
The door opens and a letter flies in and puts itself on the main desk. It has a Madam President's seal and a note “Red”.  
  
Graves opens it immediately. It says:  
  
“ICOW Meeting 6 PM" (1)  
  
Now, that's wonderful. He will have to acknowledge the impotence of his division in the only task it's been made for — the security of Wizarding World — to the international community.  
  
*  
At noon the Floo flames green again and Loyell brings news.  
  
“Mister Graves, we've located the lab. Caught these bastards red-handed.”  
  
“Finally something positive,” Graves exhales.  
  
They've been collecting the data about a big underground laboratory of illegal potions for several months. Graves has even integrated his man into the network. In the last few weeks he's got several reports of an increased activity in the potions market, so here it is. However, Loyell doesn't look so happy.  
  
“Sir.”  
  
“What is it, Auror Loyell?” Graves asks with anticipation.  
  
“There's been an ambush. We managed to capture their leader and the three workers. But five of our people are dead.”  
  
Graves rubs the bridge of his nose. In this war, he'd lost people and added to the losses of the other party himself. He never got used to it.  
  
“What of Ackerman, our agent?”  
  
“There's no trace of him, Sir. I'm sorry.”  
  
Not as sorry as the gang leader when he will be interrogating him, Graves thinks.  
  
“Send the Cleaners and the Obliviators. Double the guard posts. Take all the available men.”  
  
*

  
Another portion of news falls upon Percival Graves right at the middle of the ICOW meeting. None other than his former employee Tina Goldstein bursts into the Pentagram Hall with a suitcase. A British wizard and a No-Maj come out of it right in front of the international delegation. Outrageous.  
  
Graves blocks the Floo in his office. When the MACUSA employees themselves have interactions with No-Majes no one can be trusted. He orders Loyell to interrogate Miss Goldstein while the rest of his men collect all the information about this British Johnny-come-lately.  
  
At least now he knows that the source of destruction was an Obscurus, just as he suspected. The marks of the Senator's face clearly indicate that. Graves has seen an Obscurial once, at the beginning of his career. An nine-year-old girl, in a Catholic orphanage, who'd lost control of the force. As a result, another girl was killed. Apparently, she's been picking on the Obscurial girl, who died a few days later.  
  
In a couple of hours, Auror Ada Sterk comes in. Behind her is a clerk with a bunch of scrolls levitating.  
  
“Mister Graves, I've brought a report on the British wizard, Newton Scamander.”  
  
“Thank you, Auror Sterk. What about the contents of his suitcase?”  
  
The Auror hesitates.  
  
“What is it now?”  
  
“There were complications, Sir,” she says uncertainly. Graves lifts his eyebrow.  
  
“We can't open it, Sir.”  
  
“What do you mean? The whole Auror division, however few of you left on the shift now, can't open some case?”  
  
“Affirmative, Sir. Doherty believes there are some wards none of us are able to break. Possibly ancestral magic.”  
  
_It cannot be. Not all at once._  
  
In the next half hour, Graves confirms — this is indeed an ancestral magic that protects the case. Screw these Brits with their ancient families! He's been asking Madam President to invite a specialist in ancestral magic for Theodard Fontaine knows how long. (2) But it's not easy to find such a wizard in the first place. The decent British wizards who specialize in this field are not likely to give up their motherland and go across the world to work against the powerful British families. The only possible way to lure a rare specialist would be a significant amount of money, which the MACUSA doesn't have (Madam President has told him repeatedly). There are also a few of not so decent ones. But first of all, finding them would take a lot of time and resources Graves doesn't have now. Second of all Madam President will bite his head off if she finds out he's dealt with such sort of people. And Graves is almost positive she'll do that anyway by the end of the day unless he presents her with the news that doesn't show his people as a bunch of incompetent idiots.  
  
For now, anything could be in that case. Graves spends the next several hours in an exhausting and fruitless interrogation, which raises more questions than answers. The Brit is either a fool or a real piece of work.  
  
*

  
He still finds time to meet up with Credence. In the past few weeks, the Second Salemers' boy has been his eyes and ears among these people. It's always important to have agents in all the gathering places of potential enemies. Sometimes he chooses Squibs for such tasks. There are plenty of die-hard patriots who would gladly compensate their lack of magical abilities with dedicated service. But he is not against using No-Majes too, even if Madam President wouldn't approve. It's not so hard to gain their trust and even easier to Obliviate them afterwards.  
  
However, in this particular case, Graves has found himself developing a subtle affection. The way this Credence kid hangs on his words and craves to be touched. The boy is good on the eyes too, his timidness regardless. This could be quite promising if Graves would decide to explore this way. But work always goes before play, and the war places its' own demands.  
  
At times like this Graves wouldn't have many opportunities to wander about the city, apart from the 'red' situations. So when they meet he gives Credence a pendant. It's shaped like a laurel leaf and is linked with his locket Graves always wears on his chest covered up by his shirt. Now when Credence finds an Obscurial or in case of emergency, he can give him a signal right away.  
  
  
***  
  
“Name?”  
  
“You know my name.”  
  
“Name?”  
  
“Porpentina Goldstein.”  
  
“Occupation?”  
  
“I work at the Wand Permit Department, you know that too.”  
  
“Miss Goldstein, you are now a suspect in a criminal case. I suggest you comply with the procedure. The sooner you do that the better this will go for you. Do we understand each other?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Tina is sitting in the interrogation room. The light is too bright, she has to squint her eyes. It's supposed to be uncomfortable, she knows that. The Auror across the table is unknown to her. She guesses they've found someone new who hadn't worked with her when she herself was an Auror. His Quick-Quote Quill is meticulously writing down every word. She used to have one of those too. The other Auror stands by the door. For all Tina knows they've been here for several hours already, and she is exhausted and frustrated. When she trapped Newt and Jacob in the case in Central Park she thought she was doing what was right. The last thing she expected was that she would become a suspect in a case of national security.  
  
“How long have you known Mister Newton Scamander and the No-Maj?”  
  
“We've just met this morning.”  
  
“Please describe how you met and what happened after.”  
  
She describes. Strictly to the point, facts only. It will be over soon, they can't keep her here long. She hasn't done anything worth prosecuting her. Well, at least she tried not to.  
  
“Why did you go to Central Park?”  
  
“I wanted to see what they would do.”  
  
“How did you know that they would be there?”  
  
“I followed them.”  
  
“Where from?”  
  
Tina pauses. This is not good.  
  
“From my house.” She answers reluctantly.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
There's no use of lying.  
  
“They were staying in my apartment.”  
  
“How long have you known Mister Scamander and the No-Maj?”  
  
“I have already answered that. I met him this morning.”  
  
“Why did you invite two men you knew not even for a whole day into your home?”  
  
“Just so they could sleep. I didn't want them to spend a night in the streets, its winter.”  
  
“I see."  
  
The Auror throws a barely visible glance to his partner who stands by the door. He nods and makes a note in his scroll.  
  
“You were saying that you've met at the morning. Why didn't you deliver Mister Scamander here immediately?”  
  
Tina hates to think about it. Had they not mixed up their cases, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have looked foolish in front of both the President and the Director of Magical Security. Perhaps she could have gained her former position back. And now she is sinking even lower.  
  
“I did. But there's been a mistake, a mix-up with the suitcases,” she explains.  
  
The Auror snorts.  
  
“How convenient.”  
  
“What are you implying?” Tina's cheeks flush. Do they really suspect that she's done it on purpose?  
  
“Perhaps you were expecting for the animal outburst to happen. Maybe it was your plan all along.”  
  
Tina gapes at the interrogator. The worst thing to do now is to be defensive, although this is exactly what she wants to do.  
  
"Sir, I assure you, I am as loyal as..."  
  
"We'll return to this topic." The Auror cuts her off. "Now, we would like to know more about Newton Scamander."  
  
*  
  
It's already dawn when Tina finally goes down the steps of the MACUSA building. They let her see neither Newt nor Jacob. They didn't let her pack her things.  
  
"Your belongings will be delivered to your address, Miss Goldstein." Those were the words of the Auror who escorted her from the building.  
  
She is now a witness and is still under investigation. They "strongly advised" her to stay in the city during the whole process. They've also placed restrictions on the number of spells she is allowed to perform. Mostly minor domestic ones, no Apparition, nothing influencing other people. She used to do that to the suspects, now the tables have turned. She has lost her job and her reputation. She goes down a cold empty street dragging her feet.  
  
Sadly, she doesn't find peace at home. Queenie meets her at the door, she is obviously upset and tired too. Tina looks around. The living room is in distress: all their the books are piled on the floor, clothes are hanging out of the drawers. In the kitchen, all the cupboards are open and one of their porcelain dishes sits half-shattered on the table. Queenie must have been mending it when Tina returned. Queenie casts a silencing spell so their landlady Mrs. Esposito wouldn't hear her, and rattles on.  
  
"Tina, this is horrible! The Aurors have just left. They've searched the whole flat up and down! They summon me for an interrogation tomorrow. That's today I mean. In about two hours I guess. Did they interrogate you too? What happened to Newt and this cute No-Maj?"  
  
Tina is so tired she just downs her shields and lets Queenie see everything that's on her mind. Queenie gasps.  
  
"I'm so sorry," Tina collapses heavily on the chair. She takes her wand out and helps her sister clean up. She's allowed to do at least that.  
  
"As for Newt, I haven't seen him. We were separated right away and they didn't let me see him afterwards. But as far as I know, he is being interrogated by Mister Graves."  
  
The words seem to be floating heavily in the air.  
  
"Oh, this is not good, Teenie." Queenie whispers. "What do they charge him with?"  
  
"Breach of the Clause 73 of the ISWS, I believe." (3)  
  
Queenie's face goes white. She sits on the ottoman and puts her palms on her knees.  
  
"Teenie, what are we gonna do?"  
  
"Now we clean all this mess and then we go to sleep," Tina says evenly. "And then we will think something up."  
  
***  
  
Graves' head barely touches the leather couch when his secretary barges in unceremoniously. She doesn't even excuse herself which is unlike her.  
  
“Mister Graves, there's been another magical outburst. Same as with the Senator. Several No-Majes are dead, a building has collapsed.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“It's the New Salem Philanthropic Society, on Pike Street.”  
  
Graves sits up. _Credence._  
  
The locket under his shirt vibrates.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
(1) [International Confederation of Wizards](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/International_Confederation_of_Wizards).  
  
(2) [Theodard Fontaine was an American wizard and one of the original twelve Aurors in the United States of America.](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Theodard_Fontaine)

(3) [The Clause 73](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/International_Statute_of_Wizarding_Secrecy), International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy: " _Each wizarding governing body will be responsible for the concealment, care and control of all magical beasts, beings, and spirits dwelling within its territory's borders. Should any such creature cause harm to, or draw the notice of, the Muggle community, that nation's wizarding governing body will be subject to discipline by the International Confederation of Wizards._ "


	2. Chapter 2

All that's left of the church are walls and a half-collapsed roof. There are piles of stones inside, which have probably broken through the ceiling. Despite the late hour people start gathering around. Graves and the Aurors seclude the area, closing all the witnesses and bypassers in. They will collect their memories first and then Obliviate them.

“Mister Graves, we've found three bodies!” Loyell comes out of a church. “Two girls, supposedly killed when the roof collapsed, and a woman. Her body is on the hall floor and she has the same black marks on her face as the Senator had.”

Entering the ruins Graves feels a pang of fear: what if Credence got hurt too? No one else could have activated the pendant, so he must be all right, but still. Then he sees the bodies. One of them belongs to a girl of about nine. That was probably the host, Graves concludes. He doesn't feel much pity for her. Had she not been killed in a wreckage she would have died months or even weeks later — Obscurials don't live past the age of ten.  
  
“Did you find anyone else?” Graves asks, absent-mindedly touching his chest, where the locket is.  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
Graves finds Credence outside the church. The young man sits on the ground by the side wall hugging his knees and sobbing quietly. His eyes look empty as if his mind is concentrated on something internal. It takes Graves a few strong words and a slap to make him focus.  
  
“Credence, tell me what happened,” Graves demands.  
  
“They're dead, aren't they?” Credence asks. “Oh, good heavens...” He sobs again, “Modesty... She tried to protect me, and I couldn't...” He chokes on his voice.  
  
Graves helps him get up on his feet. So Modesty was the host, just as he thought.  
  
“Come with me.” He orders shortly.  
  
As they approach the church entrance, Loyell already meets them there.  
  
“We've taken all the No-Majes' memories, sir, for the report”, he lifts up a small case with vials filled with shining liquid, “The Obliviators are finishing now.”  
  
“Good.” Graves says. He looks around trying to assess the scene once again. Behind Loyell's back, the wall is rebuilding itself — the Cleaners' team is working inside. In a few minutes, everything will seem like nothing ever happened here. As for the vanished people, the Obliviators will make up something believable and link a charm to the building. Then people who pass it by will learn the new story and spread it.  
  
“What about this one?” Loyell nods at Credence who stands a few steps back hugging into himself and visibly shivering. “Shall I call an Obliviator for him too?”  
  
Graves snaps.  
“He's not a No-Maj, Loyell, can't you tell?”  
  
“I'm sorry, sir,” Loyell explains himself quickly, “I'm not as good at sensing the magic in people as you are. He's a wizard then?”  
  
“He's a _Savage_ , Loyell,” Graves says tiredly.  
  
Loyell's face lights up with curiosity and he eyes Credence from head to toe. For some reason, Graves feels irritated by it.  
  
***

A _Savage_. A person with magical abilities who has never attended any magical school. Most wizards cringed at the word. There were different kinds of Savages. Firstly, those whose families were too poor to send their children to wizarding schools for the full course. Certainly, there was a charity fund to finance their education. But as it always happens with money — there weren't enough to send every underprivileged child to a wizarding school. So the unfortunate ones only got a brief training to help them control their magic and were taught simple domestic charms. Usually, it was done by one of the Congress employees. If the parents couldn't afford to buy a new wand, the child inherited one of his ancestors'. If they could afford books, children were getting some knowledge and skills from them as well as they could. They were allowed to pass an exam with the school students. But few actually passed. Needless to say, that under all the circumstances these people could hardly perform any skilled magic. By the mid-20s the whole clans of Savage families formed in the US. The Congress monitored their activities carefully to prevent any magical outbursts that could provoke exposure.  
  
During the War, the second kind of Savages grew in numbers tremendously. The orphans of wizards and No-Majes who weren't located by the MACUSA in time. The Congress did its' best to find such children and place them into wizarding orphanages or foster families. But not many families were eager to take an extra mouth to feed and the shelters were overfilled. They weren't the happiest places on earth either and children escaped them quite often. In the past few years, there've been records of several cases of Statute of Secrecy violation due to spontaneous magical outbursts from the escaped and undiscovered orphans.  
  
When Graves was looking for a new agent he set his eye on Credence out of convenience. The young man was right at the center of the Second Salemers, yet he turned out to be not as fanatically devoted to their cause as his sister Chastity. He was also old enough to seek new authorities outside his circle. Later Graves was surprised to sense some magic in him. He did some background check and found out that the boy's mother was a witch, father unknown. His mother had died in a fire when he was little, so there were no documents left. For some reason, the child wasn't taken by the MACUSA employees. Instead, he was adopted by a No-Maj. Unheard-of, but in the War-chaos anything was possible. Perhaps he hadn't shown any magical abilities by then yet. And now it appeared that his younger adoptive sister also had magic in her (two wizards in a No-Maj care, what a coincidence) but unfortunately, it was revealed too late. When asked, Credence never admitted he ever had any magical outbursts in his past. So, Graves guessed, the boy had just enough magical abilities to not be called a Squib. Possibly he would be able to master some simple charms in the future but that was the limit. Regardless of that, the boy belonged to the Wizarding world.  
  
Graves didn't let himself contemplate the reasons he took Credence with him that night. The logical answer was that the boy, who had nowhere to go, who'd tried to help him and was of wizarding descent shouldn't have been left behind. However, there was nothing logical in the fact that Graves brought Credence to the very place he had been trying to avoid and forget for almost three years now.  
  
*  
  
Credence leans on the wall catching his breath and tries not to embarrass himself even more in front of Mister Graves. He's just stopped sobbing and crying, he can't vomit on the sidewalk too. He's seen Apparition many times now but never been taken Side-along. He didn't expect this would make him feel like his guts were being pulled out. Mister Graves waits, a few steps away, he is into his thoughts and lets Credence take his time.  
  
“It's all right,” Mister Graves says then, “Everyone feels nauseated at their first Apparition.” His voice is expressionless, but Credence appreciates the words anyway.  
  
They walk out from the back alley Mister Graves has Apparated them into. It's late and the street is empty. Credence is desperately trying to distract himself with anything, just not to think about what has just happened. He looks around, focusing on his surroundings. Being here and now, that should help. They are near Washington Square and head West. He's been in this area several times. It's a No-Maj neighborhood. For all he knows, it's not uncommon for wizards to successfully disguise themselves living among the No-Majes, but they generally prefer to group closer together.  
  
They continue walking for a while, they cross the 6th Avenue. Mister Graves is ahead and Credence follows him, wondering why are they here and what's going to happen next. He's rather glad that he is not alone now, that he is out in the city and that it's cold outside. The cold makes him alert and shivery. There's no time for thinking when you struggle to keep yourself from freezing. The last thing he'd like is to stay one on one with his thoughts and memories. He hugs himself tightly wrapping into his velvet jacket, shrinks his head into his shoulders. As long as the cloud of warm air forms at his lips, he is sure he is not sleeping. He is conscious and present. Still, his loss is too deep and the wounds are too raw. _Modesty is dead._ He has no more tears to cry so he gives out something between a sigh and a sob. _They all are dead._ The words echo in his head. _His family._ He looks at his feet. _Come on, one after the other._ He counts steps, he breathes in the prickly winter air, fists his numb fingers so the nails are digging painfully into his palms. Anything to keep himself distracted before the most horrible earth-shattering thought is formed in his mind.  
  
Mister Graves stops by the front door of a four-storied white building. Credence almost bumps into him but stops at the very last moment. Mister Graves makes a subtle hand gesture and the lock on the door opens. He didn't even have to use his wand, that's impressive. They walk upstairs to the fourth floor where Mister Graves opens the door to the apartment the same way he just did. Credence follows him inside. The door silently closes behind them.  
  
A small ball of light emerges on Mister Graves' palm and floats into the air, growing. The place lights up with warm light. It's a room, chocked up with furniture, but all the pieces are covered with white fabric to protect them from dust. They look like ghosts, like bones of a carcass left on the side of a road. The apartment is not very spacious: a living room with a kitchenette, two doors, one is possibly into the bathroom and another one either to a closet or a bedroom.  
  
A hand-wave from Mister Graves and all the furniture covers fall off and vanish exposing a couch, a small dining table with four chairs around it, two armchairs, an ottoman, a cupboard and a large wardrobe with a mirror on its' front panel. Even with all the furniture around, the room looks lifeless. Light spots on the walls show that there used to be pictures. No decorations, no clock, no houseplants. The fireplace is empty and too clean from coal and soot. Credence guesses, the place has been uninhabited for a long time. Here used to be life and joy, and happiness, now it's just the remains, left to decay.  
  
"You are going to stay here for now," Mister Graves says tiredly, "This should be enough for one person."  
  
Credence looks at him hesitantly. He barely finds the words to say:  
  
"Thank you, Mister Graves. It's more than enough."  
  
It's too much actually, he thinks — the whole apartment just for himself, but Credence is too modest to say it out loud. He just stands there uncomfortably, still shivering.  
  
Mister Graves tosses a key on the table.  
  
"No one lives here. The place is all yours,” he pauses, “Everything but that room," he gestures at one of the doors.  
  
"Mister Graves, why did you... You shouldn't have...”  
  
“I couldn't let you spend a night on the street, could I? Especially after what happened.”  
  
He rubs his forehead to shake away the fatigue and points his wand at the ottoman. It turns into several pieces of firewood. They toss themselves into the chimney and suddenly burst into flames. Credence haven't even noticed that Mister Graves made any incantations, just a flick of a wand.  
  
“The fire should be enough for tonight. I'll send someone with more wood tomorrow. Now get some sleep. It's been a long day, we're all exhausted.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Credence whispers.  
  
Mister Graves is waiting, Credence isn't sure of what. Should he thank him again? Did he thank him enough? Should he just leave him with his thoughts? He feels really awkward. He shouldn't have been rewarded after what he did. This whole situation seems inadequate, inappropriate and also very fearful. Credence would have liked for someone to stay with him, at least tonight. But he wouldn't dare ask Mister Graves for that. And what would they do if he stayed anyway?  
  
Credence shrugs again. The warmth from the fireplace starts to spread across the room, but he just can't let himself loose. He feels like if he does, something horrible is going to happen again. Or perhaps he will just collapse on the floor.  
  
Suddenly Mister Graves says:  
  
"Credence, be at MACUSA tomorrow, 8 AM. My secretary will meet you."  
  
Credence looks up, unable to believe what he hears.  
  
"Now that we're short of people, you'll be working for me," Mister Graves says in an assertive tone. "With all these cases piling up we could use any help."  
  
Credence can barely speak. He just stands there with a shocked expression on his face. He should have been punished severely and not given a reward. A place to live and a job? And not any job, but helping Mister Graves in the center of all the magic in New York? Is this really what God would want for him? Is this a test?  
  
“Perhaps you have something else to occupy yourself with—” Mister Graves says, feeling his hesitation.  
  
"Of course not, Mister Graves!" Credence reels, "I'll be there. Tomorrow. I don't know if I can ever repay you for your kindness. I will work really hard, you'll see..."  
  
Mister Graves cuts him off waving a hand.  
  
"I have no doubts about it Credence."  
  
His face looks troubled, he must be far away in his thoughts.  
  
"Tomorrow, 8 AM." He says and Disapparates leaving Credence all by himself with the ghosts.

*  
  
Credence hates silence, so as being alone.  
  
The thing is even when there's no one around, he is never alone. The darkness is always there. It lives and breathes under his skin. It waits. At least it used to wait until it became too crowded inside for the two of them. Then the darkness burst out wreaking havoc and destruction. Ma would have said that he is possessed by a demon. She read them stories. Credence seldom wonders if he is a person possessed by a demon or he is the demon who temporarily occupies human's body. He used to know for sure but now the distinction is not so clear anymore.  
  
He hates that wardrobe mirror the moment he sees it. The reflection in it is like a mockery to him. Never mind that the reflective surface is flawless, he is all pieces and cracks. A lost, tormented, broken young man. No matter how hard he pretends to be like everyone else, it's too visible in the mirror. Like it turns his shell over and reveals his true self, exposes him and says: “ _I see you_. I see what you truly are. An abomination. _A freak_. A demon.”  
  
Credence picks the sheet of white fabric off the floor and covers the mirror with it, tucking the fabric behind the corners. It will do.  
  
The silence is still unbearable because all these thoughts and memories creep up on him. Just this morning he was giving out the leaflets to the kids. The shelter was there. Ma was alive. So were his sisters. Now they're gone, because of him, but he survived and got a reward. In what twisted world this could ever happen? Perhaps he has died with them and gone to hell and this is his punishment. To relive it all over again, and again in his memory. The demon triumphs. Credence is afraid that if he goes to sleep, he wouldn't be able to distract himself, to be present here and now. Then the demon will prevail and he can't let that happen. _Tomorrow, 8 AM_. He just has to stay alert till that time. Then he'll think of something else. He picks up the key and goes out. He still has a few hours to wander the cold empty streets.  
  
***  
  
Credence comes by the Woolworth building half an hour early. He hasn't returned to the apartment and hasn't had a minute of sleep. He may be worn out and slow today but at least he hasn't had any nightmares and didn't kill anyone else, so the price is incommensurable.  
  
To pass the time he watches as people come and go through the massive revolving front door. Every day they spend a great deal of time working inside its' walls and they have no idea that the biggest Magical governmental structure is situated right under their nose. They are unaware of magic at all. A world woven into a world, like a weft and a warp in a piece of fabric. Credence finds it fascinating.  
  
“Credence Barebone?” A sharp voice alerts him.  
  
Credence turns around and sees a tall thin young woman beside him. Somehow she manages to look equal parts irritated and bored.  
  
“Maude Peerie. I'm Mister Graves' secretary,” she doesn't wait for Credence to answer. “Follow me.”  
  
She swiftly turns around and goes towards the entrance making Credence catch up.  
  
The MACUSA building is one of those made to humble a common man. A dominating building for a dominating ruling establishment — it fits. Credence spent a great deal of time at the foot of such buildings, but he's been few times inside. To his surprise, the Congress headquarters not only hides on the premises of a No-Maj civilian building. It also goes under the ground to as many floors as it does above. The main hall ceiling is so high it projects clouds as if you are actually under the sky. The hall is so spacious, that your mind doesn't register that you are inside the building. It feels like you've stepped beyond the looking glass and everything has gone slightly different although you can't tell for sure. The light is a little warmer, the air is a little thicker but in a good way. The sounds are muffled and velvety. And for some reason, everything seems familiar. As if you haven't opened a new world but returned home.  
  
As Miss Peerie walks ahead of him, all edgy and stiff, like she has a stick up her rear end, Credence tries to absorb everything around him. It's fascinating and unbelievable. The rustle of steps muffled by the soft carpets in the endless corridors. The echo of whispers and soft voices. Papers flying above in a strict order. Portraits and statues that seem to live their own life. Each and every one of them turns its' head at the new-comer. Credence is both weirded out and excited with them. The soft golden light that seems to be coming out of nowhere makes everything look cozy and warm. Doors, doors, doors. The intricate system of elevators. The bizarre little creatures that serve here as helpers. Various scents (wood, old paper, dust, oil, perfume, and residual ozone from the magic) merge into one unique and memorable smell. The hectic movement of people who bustle about occupied by their businesses resembles a trademark chaos of the New York streets. The whole place reminds Credence of a city. It's perfect because he has never felt more at his place than in the streets. There are also glances. Cautious, cursory, stolen, scornful, cheeky, interested ones — Credence got used to being looked at, he unmistakably can tell the intention of the observer without turning around. He is sure he's already becoming the center of local gossip.  
  
The only difference between these people and common New Yorkers he dealt with before, is that here everyone has magical powers. This is surreal. Credence tells himself he is one of them, he belongs with them. He has magical powers too, or at least he used to. For them, he is _a Savage,_ untrained, an outcast, kicked to the curb of the Magical community.  
  
He can't help but remind himself that he is also a contra-volitional killer. Still undiscovered, still free but not looked for. They think _the Host_ is dead and the Obscurus will not disturb their peace again. If only Credence could make it that way. The demon shifts inside and Credence feels its' irritation. It develops emotions of its own, that's not good. But now, when he has finally arrived at the very center of the US Wizarding world anything is possible. Mister Graves has taken him in and that's worth a lifetime. It's possible that he is not beyond help, after all, Credence thinks. Maybe he can even make a reparation for what he's done. The demon rolls over somewhere along the spine sending a shiver down Credence's back.  
  
*

After passing through the maze of corridors they finally arrive at their destination and enter a big room with about fifteen work tables in it. Only two of them are occupied. There are four large windows, that must be artificial. However, the view looks so realistic that it's easy to forget they're deep underground. Now it looks cloudy and dull outside, like it's about to start raining any minute, nothing like the real weather upstairs. One of the walls is covered in bookshelves and is filled with various books up to the ceiling. Credence has never seen so many books in one place.  
  
At the end of the hall, there's a glass door with a plate that says "Reception office". Inside, next to the entrance, there's a neat desk. There's another one at the back, all cluttered with papers and scrolls.  
  
"You go over there," Miss Peerie says shortly. She takes off her coat and puts it on the closest desk, a neat one, that must be her workplace. To his left, Credence notices the door to what must be a Mister Graves' office, as the plate on it indicates "Head of The MLE Department. Director of Magical Security."  
  
She steps closer to Credence and extends her hand.  
  
“I need to register your wand.”  
  
Credence looks at her trying to determine if she is mocking him.  
  
"Well?" She snaps irritatedly.  
  
“I don't have one.” He says.  
  
Her eyes widen.  
  
“Like at all? Didn't you undergo a training like all Savages do?”  
  
“No. I was raised by No-Majes.”  
  
Miss Peerie snorts and turns around.  
  
“Even a house elf would have been a better fit, at least they're skilled in magic.” She says to herself but loudly enough so Credence could hear. "So I guess you'll have to do everything the No-Maj way. And wouldn't that be entertaining?"  
  
“Is that a library there?” Credence dares to ask tilting his head to the hall they've just passed through. He is thrilled by the opportunity of being so close to all the new books and at the moment doesn't really care much for Miss Peerie's attitude.  
  
She presses her lips together and answers reluctantly:  
  
“Yes, it is. For the Law Enforcement Department only. Laws and precedents and all that. There's a major library on the fifth floor. But don't expect that you'll get to have a lot of free time to read. Do you even know how? I'm sorry," she giggles, "I have never met a Savage before. What can you even do?”  
  
Credence feels a little offended, but he has already realized that he shouldn't expect any niceties from Mister Graves' secretary.  
  
“I can read," he says trying hard not to sound very intimidated, "I've read The New Testament more than ten times.”  
  
“What's a _new testment_?" She sneers. "Some No-Maj book? Never mind." She takes her wand out of her sleeve. " _Accio_ pending cases”  
  
A messy hip of papers floats from under her desk and she lands them above the already existing pile of scrolls on the cluttered desk that is now apparently Credence's.  
  
“Here. These are the reports from all the recent cases. Sort everything out by case, by date, then put them into these folders and mark them. Black for the dismissed, green for the ones in progress, yellow for pending and red for the number one priority. I can tell you right away the Newton Scamander case and the Potions Lab case are 'red'. The Obscurial ones are 'black'. And if you have any questions, don't ask me. I have my own work to do.”  
  
Miss Peerie walks towards the window and draws the heavy curtains together.  
  
“See, it's about to rain again." Credence is not sure if she is talking to him or is just expressing her dissatisfaction in general. "It's so unfair that the weather display is linked to the number of the unsolved cases. It's not my fault we have so many at the moment! So I'm not going to sit here in the darkness. It's counterproductive.”  
  
She takes the folders on her desk and puts them under her table, then aligns the pile with her foot so it doesn't collapse. The light from the window brightens a bit but it's still gloomy out there.  
  
"And where is Mister Graves?" Credence asks. He might as well tell him that he has arrived.  
  
"Probably at a meeting with Madam President. Anyway, he is a very busy man and don't you think that if you now work at his reception office you will be distracting him whenever you please. The only reason you were placed here is because Susie is taking a sick leave. Her husband has just been killed in a skirmish, he was an Auror here. Ah, poor thing," she exhales but for some reason, it doesn't sound sympathetic at all.  
  
“And also you'll be responsible for bringing us coffee or tea, filing papers, carrying stuff. You at least have arms and legs, that should be enough for tasks like that. Since you don't have any wizarding training.” She looks sideways and wrinkles her nose as if the topic physically hurts her.  
  
***

Tina finds herself walking down the Broadway again. No matter how much she tries to avoid the Woolworth building her feet seem to carry her to it anyway. It's getting dark already. Today she has applied for several jobs, got as many rejections.  
  
"We do not employ people who are currently under investigation."  
  
"Some of my guys will be uncomfortable to work with a former Auror. And I can't guarantee your safety."  
  
"Not qualified enough."  
  
"Sure, darling, if you had bigger... recommendations I would have given you this job if you know what I mean."  
  
It's all for nothing anyway, Tina thinks. She loves working as an Auror, she's good at it too. Even when she'd been transferred to the Wand Permit Department she thought of it as of a temporary solution and was taking every chance to get her Auror position back. Tina is sure her exile is temporary too. They can't ban her from being an Auror forever, she'd die then.  
  
"Write a letter to Madam President," Queenie suggested, "Explain her everything. She is a sensible woman, she will understand."  
  
Sensible, right. Sure Queenie meant well but this is just ridiculous. Tina knows that the only reason Miss Piquery hasn't fired her after that incident with the No-Majes was her good credit. She is sure that Mister Graves has also vouched for her. She could write a letter to him, but his power has its' limits. Maybe when the investigation is over they will let her come back. Provided they find her innocent.  
  
"But you _are_ innocent!" Queenie exclaimed yesterday.  
  
"Not according to the law."  
  
"But you meant well!"  
  
"That's not how it works, Queenie."  
  
If only there were more Legilimets who could tell right away what every person _meant_. The prosecution process could have become so much easier.  
  
Tina can't help but worry what has come of Newt. What about his animals? Would she be told if they condemned him to capital punishment? Queenie is the only eyes and ears she has left inside the MACUSA, and it's not like she can tell much. Maude Peerie is safeguarding her boss' secrets like a dragon its' treasure. Tina has always detested that woman.  
  
She thinks about Newt more often than it's appropriate to think about a man. Is everything lost? If things go well after all and he will be released would he even want to speak to her after what she'd done? She would have understood if he didn't acknowledge their acquaintance at all but that would be heart-breaking. Tina even wrote him a letter but the prisoners aren't allowed to receive mail. So it sits on her desk at home.  
  
Then it dawns at her — it's a lost cause. She's seen it too many times to have any foolish hope. They're still at war and the martial law doesn't tolerate any careless actions. They will condemn him eventually. Just to set an example.  
  
She won't cry. Not again and not in the middle of the street. She won't...  
  
"Miss Tina!"  
  
*

  
As Credence walks out to the street his eye catches a woman in a gray trench coat. She looks so familiar he stops abruptly. Suddenly he fishes this scene out of his memory. His first encounter with the magical world as an adult. This lady is an Auror. Her name is Tina Goldstein. She's been attending the meetings in the Second Salemers' church in disguise. One day Ma was mad at him for something and decided to punish him as an illustrative example right at the meeting and this lady stopped her. She saved him with magic. Ma was outraged. But then the whole team of mages came and did something, so everyone forgot what happened there. But somehow this memory returned to Credence with time. He still can't understand why but he finally remembered everything piece by piece. Perhaps because this was the exact day he found out that there were people who would stand up for him and it was one of the most important things. And not only that: a person who had taken his side was from the magical world, the world that he thought was lost for him forever. And quite possibly when Mister Graves approached him once, Credence trusted him without a question for the exact same reason.  
  
"Miss Tina!" Credence calls out.  
  
Tina stops and turns around. When she sees him her face softens in a smile that is possibly intended to be happy but is soiled with sadness. Her eyes and nose are reddish and a little puffy, she must have cried recently.  
  
"You probably don't remember me..." Credence starts, but she interrupts him:  
  
"Of course I remember you, Credence! How are you?"  
  
Credence is taken aback by the fact that she is not at all surprised that _he_ remembers her.  
  
"I'm all right. It's— It's nice to see you, Miss Tina. Is everything all right with you?"  
  
"I'm fine," Tina says but by the tone of her voice it's clear that she is just trying to keep her face.  
  
"Am I not mistaken?” She says. “You are coming from that building?" The MACUSA building she wants to say.  
  
Credence nods.  
  
"What were you doing there?"  
  
"I— I work there now."  
  
She looks genuinely surprised.  
  
"It's not a very important job. I run errands, help here and there." Credence says as if trying to explain himself.  
  
"But... How?"  
  
"Mister Graves fixed me up for it. I'm sort of an assistant at his department," Credence chooses the words carefully. Fortunately, Tina doesn’t know him well enough to notice that he is nervous more than usual.  
  
"Who? Mister Graves? Percival Graves? The Head of the Law Enforcement Department?" Tina's eyes are so wide they might pop out of their sockets any time now. Her next words come out almost like an accusation. "Didn't know you two were acquainted."  
  
Credence doesn't say anything. He just shrugs awkwardly. There is not much to say, really, yet.  
  
"That's nice." Tina continues, pressing her lips together. "I heard the Second Salemers church was destroyed. Do you have a place to live? Food?"  
  
Credence is indecisive. Is she sincerely worrying about him, when she herself got fired from her job?  
  
"I have a place to live, thank you, Miss Tina."  
  
She smiles politely, but her unease is visible. She seems to be weighing a thought but doesn't know how to vocalize it. Credence elaborates.  
  
"Miss Tina?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
She looks almost relieved. She steps closer and asks in a low voice.  
  
"Credence, do you know anything about this case? The case of Newt Scamander, the one I got fired for?"  
  
"Well, I can't tell you anything _here_. What exactly would you like to know?" Credence asks cautiously.  
  
This is dangerous waters. He is barely hanging there himself. If he's found sneaking around, snooping, and most of all giving out secret information, Mister Graves will make sure he regrets it deeply. But Miss Tina looks so miserable and crushed, Credence wants to return her the favor. Not the favor, the debt. She lost much because she'd saved him that day. And now she is losing even more trying to do the right thing again. How can he refuse to help her now?  
  
"I know where they keep him," he says, "If you want I can deliver a message for him."  
  
Miss Tina's face blooms with hope.  
  
"You can do that? That would be great! Can we meet tomorrow? This time. Maybe not here, but somewhere more discreet?"  
  
Credence weights his options then he says:  
  
"All right, Miss Tina. Do you know this bakery on Church street? The No-Maj one. Let's meet there."


	3. Chapter 3

During his years of being a no-name Credence has mastered the art of being invisible. When you are constantly humbled by others and make every effort not to stand out, not to be seen, you succeed unavoidably. When Credence was giving out papers in the streets full of people he became no one. Then he fell into the role of his foster mom's shadow following her everywhere, being unnoticed.

Now this. The Law Enforcement Department is crowded with people. Yet no one pays attention at Credence. They had at first but when everybody found out that he is a new assistant to Mister Graves himself, they suddenly seemed to lose interest in him. Because apparently, everyone knows better than to get involved in the Director's business. They still spread gossip when they think Credence doesn't hear them. However, Credence listens to everything and hears quite a lot. He is sure they talk about him too, although he hasn't caught anybody yet. But it's a matter of time. The MACUSA corridors are no more complicated than the streets and back alleys of New York, less dangerous even.

Miss Peerie is surely one of the biggest gossipers Credence has ever came across. She is rather young and she puts a lot of effort to look beautiful and attractive. But all her beauty is soiled by her arrogance and snobbery. The way she twists her mouth and snorts when she doesn't approve of something (there's a list) and how she talks about people behind their backs makes her lose all her attractiveness instantly. Not that she cares if Credence finds her attractive, or that he exists at all.

However, out of all her flaws, there is one that benefits him: Miss Peerie thinks he is a dimwit. An untrained, inexperienced young man, with a weird haircut and hideous clothes he's grown out of, awkward and clumsy. If she met Credence in the street she would have passed him by as if he was a lamp post. She still fails to comprehend why such a man like her boss placed someone like Credence by his side. But it's not in her nature to contradict her superiors. That makes her a good secretary.

To Miss Peerie's opinion, anyone less skilled and successful than she doesn't deserve her attention. Especially someone who is not interested in womankind to appreciate her looks and charm. Here, in the office, she tries not to acknowledge Credence's existence unless it's absolutely necessary. That's why she always has her girlfriends over at the reception office when Mister Graves is out. And they discuss every possible topic from the color of their hair to the cases their bosses work on.

"What a nice blouse!"

"You think? I got it from Stitch Witch on 5th. It's Indian silk. Very expensive. There were only several of these. All sold out."

"Hear that! It's been a week already and they still cannot break the wards on this suitcase!"

"This British guy is a real weirdo, you know.”

"And then I told Hugo if he wants to meet again he should apologize to my mother. Bring her flowers or something."

“He doesn't speak to anyone. I think they're going to use Veritaserum on him."

"Yeah, I thought so too, but listen, listen, there's been an attack at the docks! Pretty massive, they say. And they've destroyed all the stocks of illegal ingredients. But guess what: our guys in the lab stocked up there too. There will be a scandal, I'm sure. Can you imagine! All this time the MACUSA potion makers worked with illegal ingredients! All our potions get to go down the sewer. Now they have to do an inventory in the whole lab can you imagine? Where do we get more people! We're understaffed as it is. We'll be swamped in reports!"

"There's a new recipe I've got. You take only Granny Smith apples and then you fry them with cinnamon and rum. And only after that, you mix it with the dough. My mother in law insists on me cooking food the No-Maj way. Because I botched the four last meals. So embarrassing."

"The way he looked at me... I thought I'd die this instant. A really scary man. He's from the East and you know what they say about these people. I know the Aurors have confiscated his wand, but you know there's a rumor that Easterners can curse with just a look!"

“I heard Jennie is dating this guy from the Obliviators Team. Only a month ago she dated another one from the same team. I wonder if they know about each other.”

"They say he is some prodigy of potion making. Even our guys in the lab can't tell what some potions are for. Not only he creates new potions, but he also modifies the existing ones. Too bad he's been working on the wrong side. And they had to destroy his lab. But they think he had more labs, they just can't get him to speak."

“I'm gonna get off at five. Not a minute later. I have a date.”

"They've moved the British weirdo to the first floor to make room for the new arrivals. I spoke to Jenny, she says he's cute. She has a soft spot for redheads."

 *

It's been hours but Newt knows they'll possibly spend a few more in this room. Just like the previous times. It's his third interrogation in three days, conducted by Percival Graves, again. They must think Newt is a very important and dangerous criminal if the Director of all the Magical Security is handling the case himself. Now they face each other across the narrow table in a small overly lit interrogation room. Well, Graves faces Newt, pierces him with his observant eyes. Newt looks at nothing in particular. He finds it better to concentrate on his thoughts. Never mind that in his younger days his brother Theseus repeatedly told him: “Look people in the eye, or they will think you're lying.” Newt finds this amount of direct eye contact overwhelming and off-putting. He wouldn't have managed to utter a world if Mister Graves insisted on him looking in the eye and Newt is secretly grateful that he hasn't.

The same questions again. Name, date, and place of birth, how the magical creatures came to your possession, why did you come to the US, why did you release the animals at the very center of New York, what is the nature of your relationship with the No-Maj, and with Tina Goldstein and so on.

Newt gives the same answers over and over. Then he's ordered to retell the whole story. He knows they try to catch him on a lie. Should some details not match, Graves would pick up on that and dig further. But that can only happen if you're lying and don't keep your story straight.

This is rather unproductive, Newt thinks: wasting all this time on him when they could be going after real criminals. Meanwhile, he could resume doing what he came here for. But Mister Graves seems to be tireless, he is interrogating him with unabashed enthusiasm — he must really love his job.

The Auror is speaking in a familiar firm tone as if he's battering down nails.

"Mister Scamander we've been here for a while now. I gave you many opportunities to cooperate but my patience has its' boundaries. Something is destroying my city and kills No-Majes, and it all started when you appeared here."

Newt answers yet again:

"It was a coincidence. There's nothing dangerous in my case, I can assure you. I could show you if you only let me—"

"I do not believe in coincidences, Mister Scamander,” Graves cuts him off, "And frankly, you must be taking me for a fool if you think I let you come near this case. Even if there is nothing dangerous, there are magical animals, do you deny it?"

The pause holds then Newt says:

"No."

“So let me get this straight. I suppose you are aware that the war is still going. There's been a lull in the past several months, and we all know that it can only mean one thing: a storm afterwards. See, this is all too convenient.”

Graves doesn't even look at the scroll as he did before. He just counts on his fingers.

“A series of attacks occur in the largest US city. A few days later a nondescript man comes from the native land of the Magical World most wanted criminal. Said man provokes a series of magical outbursts that lead to one No-Maj being directly exposed to magic. One that we know of. On the same day, some magical force attacks a No-Maj political gathering. A Senator is dead.”

Graves leans closer, his face is stern.

“On the very same day, Mister Scamander, the Aurors find an illegal potions laboratory. The owner fights back, several Aurors die. And a day after that another magical attack takes the lives of three No-Majes and destroys a building.”

The Auror's voice turns flat and therefore even more menacing.

“Mister Scamander, how do you expect me to believe that all this was just a coincidence? That you are a law-abiding wizard. That you meant no harm and I should go easy on you.”

Theseus always told him: “They can't catch you on a lie if you only tell them something they already know and conceal what they shouldn't know.” These words made little sense to Newt before but now it has become clear as day. Surely they're unaware of which animals are in his suitcase beside those who've escaped. And under no circumstances, the US Aurors can't find out that he has an Obscurus there too. Newt realized that the Senator had been killed by an Obscurus. The marks on his face clearly indicated that. So it was fair to assume that other destructions had been also done by the very same force.

Newt has also witnessed how the Aurors prefer to work. He's been dealing with Magical authorities close enough to understand that if they search his suitcase and find an Obscurus there they won't think twice but charge and condemn him as an example and declaration of their good work in fighting the international terrorism.

Newt collects all his courage and looks straight at the Auror.

“Mister Graves, do you know how to trap an Erumpent?”

Graves' eyebrows jump up.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I suppose you've read the reports already. You know what a big animal an Erumpent is. They have an advanced hearing and a keen sense of smell but they don't see very well. They can also detect silencing charms. So if you use those hoping that an Erumpent won't hear you, it might deem you as a threat and attack. However, if you sing them a soothing song, any lullaby will do, they will get calm and cooperative. They also wouldn't appreciate if you sing out of tune so to charm an Erumpent you have to have a decent voice and an ear for music. Unless it's a female and she is in heat, that's a whole other story—”

Graves frowns.

“I appreciate your vast knowledge of Magizoology, Mister Scamander. But what does it have to do with anything?”

“Mister Graves, do you know how much it takes to feed a grown female Erumpent?” Newt continues.

“What is your point, Mister Scamander?” Graves asks impatiently although he already anticipates the answer.

“Well, you see, let's concede for a moment that I am a terrorist of Grindelwald. I'm not saying that I am, mark that please, but for the sake of argument...”

“For the sake of argument, sure.” Graves complies.

“And I came to New York to make some kind of a statement, to expose the Wizarding world to No-Majes, that's what you are accusing me of. Wouldn't it be easier just to go to a Times Square and cast _Periculum_ , in front of hundreds of people, make everyone see a fountain of red sparkles or _Engorgio_ a car to the size of a house? Such a trick wouldn't take much effort. Certainly less effort than to track magical creatures all over the world, catch them, take care of them, and then release them in the middle of an unknown territory to their own danger. Don't you think Mister Graves that any sensible man would have chosen the first way?”

“Common sense is not what Grindelwald is famous for, I'm afraid,” Graves says dryly. “Apart from that, did you know that it is prohibited to import magical animals to the US?"

"Yes. I did."

"Yet you smuggled them anyway. What for?"

Newt purses his lips.

"I'm sorry Mister Graves, I can't tell you that."

"That's not very cooperative Mister Scamander."

Newt is silent. With every next word, he would be laying a trap for himself.

Graves changes his tone. From the stern servant of the law, he turns into the 'guy next door', the one you can trust.

"You believe you are a sensible man. If so, tell us how to take the wards off your case so we can examine its' contents, Mister Scamander. If there really is nothing dangerous as you say, we won't bring any harm to the creatures."

Newt dives into his thoughts again. He knows that he appears weird and naive to other people and because of that they underestimate him. When Auror Graves promises they won't harm his animals Newt doesn't believe a word. So they are still unable to get into his suitcase, Newt guesses. Ancestral magic is not something you treat lightly. This case has been in his family for generations. First, it was a large chest like the ones somebody can keep all their dowry in and sleep on its' cover. In times of need, it could be transformed into a wallet or a bag. But the first wards were put on it by one of Newt's great grandfathers and every new owner added to them making them stronger. As the family legend says a stranger can open it only under certain circumstances so now Newt has a proof. The whole Auror department of MACUSA failed to break the intricate combination of spells put on the case. He still has an advantage, Newt thinks. He can surrender any time, but he'd rather stall and come up with the plan once the opportunity presents itself.

“I'm really sorry, Mister Graves, but that's all I'm able to tell you,” Newt finally says.

“I'm really sorry too, Mister Scamander but if that's your final decision then I have no other options but to put you under arrest until we find out what you're waiting for.” Graves stands up and as he is about to exit the room he adds: “Your animals have to eat something, don't they? Let's see how much you really care for them.”

As they take him away Newt considers his options. Many of his animals can safely handle a few days without food and they have a water source down there. But how long will he spend there? A week? A month? Longer? They've taken his wand but he must come up with some non-magical plan. The Aurors didn't mention that they've found Pickett so it's possible that his Bowtruckle is still hiding somewhere.

There really aren't many people who can help him here. The British Ministry of Magic wouldn't intervene as long as he is under investigation. His brother surely wouldn't compromise himself either. Tina and Queenie Goldstein are the only two witches he knows in New York. Newt wonders if Tina still works in MACUSA after that incident. The door closes behind him and the darkness settles. Some light comes from a little artificial window down the long corridor.

*

Graves walks back to his office trying to suppress his rage. One week. All he can give to this Scamander guy. Maybe two weeks tops. The arrogant Brit is hiding something and Graves will find out what. Too bad he can't use Veritaserum right now but as soon as he finds a new reliable supplier nothing will stop him. And if he doesn't, well, there are a few ways of persuasion he can come up with. Those who think _Crucio_ is the only spell to make people talk are the ones who have never worked in the Aurorate. Madam President wouldn't approve, but that only if she had known.

He storms into his reception office making his secretary jump at her desk and Credence lift his head from the pile of papers he's been working on. He slams the door at his office. Some peace and quiet would be really nice now. But when he stays alone other thoughts occupy his mind.

Graves has to admit that he has missed the moment when Credence became omnipresent in his life. Considering that the Auror practically lives at his work, he now sees Credence almost every minute of every day. Whenever Graves passes through his reception office he gets a barely-there sidelong glance or a modest look from under the long black eyelashes. These looks are shy yet Graves can read hope in them. Or perhaps... yearning? No, he must be fooling himself. Then his new assistant usually comes into his office (knocking softly first) with scrolls, reports, tea, anything. He does it so often that it's almost annoying but not because Credence disturbs his piece. As a matter of fact, Graves is rather glad to see him. But when his protege leaves it takes Graves an effort to stop thinking about him. When the boy comes close to put another paper on his desk or take the tray away Graves can't stop observing him, tracking his moves and studying his features. Graves assures himself that he means nothing inappropriate, it's a part of his job - to observe people.

Credence is clumsy and awkward and shy. He drops things, stumbles and apologizes continuously. Yesterday he knocked a crystal off the desk, stopped dead and shrugged into himself as if prepared to be punished. Graves knew that it was a reflex but he felt embarrassed and sorry for no reason anyway. He had to hug Credence and tell him it was okay as the boy melted into his embrace. This boy is a walking problem. Graves loves solving problems, that's what he does for a living.

At the moment Graves watches as Credence comes in with a stack of papers for him to sign. He walks around Graves' table and stands by his right shoulder so close that Graves can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

"Here, Mister Graves. The papers you sent me for."

The young man puts the papers on the desk then hisses and abruptly puts a thumb in his mouth.

“What is it?” Graves asks, confused.

“Oh, nothing, just a paper cut, sir,” Credence says quickly taking a wet thumb out of his mouth. He becomes aware of his inappropriate gesture and straightens himself as a soldier on duty.

Graves lifts his eyebrow.

“I'm sorry Mister Graves,” Credence adds. He surely uses his apologies as shields from any possible danger. And he does it in this innocent manner which makes Graves' ears burn as if he is the one who should be apologizing.

He signs the papers absent-mindedly, suppressing the urge to examine and heal Credence's cut thumb. But the boy hides his hands behind his back.

Graves reclines in his chair and stretches out. He's spent all morning at the interrogation and then was looking through reports and protocols and more reports. His eyes are sore, his heck is stiff. He looks at the freshly signed stack of scrolls and sighs heavily.

"I need a break."

He fishes a small blue box out of thу cupboard puts it on his table and opens it. There are chocolate candies inside. He's gotten it as a token of gratitude from his second assistant Susan for giving her a paid sick leave when her husband, an Auror, had been killed.

*

Credence looks at the chocolate. It is exquisite. It smells like the moments of his past. He often stood there, outside the confection shop window, looking at all those masterpieces on display. His mouth watered and his heart pounded at the feeble dream of ever being able to step behind the glass. And now he has in a way.

"Have one," Mister Graves says and Credence can't even believe the words are addressed to him. So Mister Graves takes the box and offers it persistently.

"Don't be shy. Pick any one you like. Pick two, or three, as many as you want," he says evenly.

Credence takes one. One is enough. One is more than he could have ever imagined laying his hands on. He puts it on his palm and looks at it as if it's made of gold.

"Aren't you going to eat it?" Mister Graves lifts his eyebrow and the look on his face sets a dance of butterflies under Credence's ribs. It feels nice.

The candy is shaped like a little dome and seems to be made of pure bliss. It's a work of art, and such art shouldn't be spoiled (or eaten), not by the likes of him anyway. But Mister Graves is watching. So Credence puts it in his mouth.

It tastes like everything forbidden. It tastes like something he shouldn't be enjoying but he does and his cheeks go rose. Ma's judging face appears in his mind for a second, but then he lowers his eyes. Mister Graves is looking at him way too intense for it not to be heart-stirring.

The remains of chocolate melt in his mouth. The sinful bliss is over, the aftertaste is left. It's encouraging.

*

"You have something on your—“ Graves begins but cuts himself off as Credence looks startled by suddenly being spoken to.

"What?" He's somewhere distant in his thoughts and doesn't get it at first. Then he wipes his mouth. But a little smear of chocolate is still there on his lower lip.

"Come here." Graves gestures. Soon he will be returning to this particular moment and ask himself what had possessed him.

Credence turns obediently and for no particular reason, he gets on his knees. Maybe he thinks it's rude to be standing this close to your boss while he is sitting there, facing your crotch. Whatever. He doesn’t even realize that this motion of his is inappropriate too. But not as much as the next thing Graves does. He swiftly drags his thumb over the young man's lower lip, wiping away the chocolate trail.

To his surprise Credence doesn't shy away. He doesn't flinch. He stays there and opens his mouth just a little, enough so that Graves sees his tongue. There's a short pause. It barely holds but the atmosphere suddenly changes. Credence lowers his eyes and jerks up abruptly.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Graves," he mumbles again facing the floor, "I didn't mean to— I'm sorry. May I go please?" He pleads.

"Yes. Sure." Graves is taken aback by his sudden awkwardness. However, Credence is always awkward. What has really set him off was that little moment when he decided to touch his protege's face for some reason and Credence let him.

When Credence barges out bumping his shoulder at the door-post Graves reclines in his chair again. He puts his thumb in his mouth and catches the fading trace of chocolate.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry about the delay. I've been dealing with some bad stuff at work but I hope it's gonna be fine now and I'll have more time to write. Enjoy the new chapter while I'm off for the 5th one!

_Credence has a tongue._ Graves has explicitly realized it yesterday and now this image haunts him. He is not as happy as he could have expected because the thoughts of Credence's tongue are even more distracting than the thoughts about the thumb that the young man has cut yesterday. Apparently, Credence also has a mouth where he can put his cut thumb whenever he pleases to torture Graves even more.

  
Graves tries not to think about it too much. After all, lips, thumbs, and whatnot are just ordinary body parts, everyone has them, there's no need to get so excited about it. However, his thoughts are stirred up by the _want_. This word somehow got entangled with all the images of what he would like to do with this mouth. That sends blood south in Graves' body. It's unnerving. There's a whole work day ahead. He has to suffer watching as Credence walks by his table with one thing or another and replay this scene from yesterday in his mind.  
  
The chocolate. He could conjure a huge pile of chocolates just to see them disappear one by one in this beautiful mouth. Then he would touch these curved lips and maybe even kiss them and bite on them and slip his tongue between them. The image of Credence's libs, bright red and a little swollen from the kisses appears in his mind and he suddenly becomes very aware that there is only his table that separates him from the outer world and utter embarrassment. Graves has to recall the spell he last used when he was a teenager. Back in school, it saved his friends and him from many awkward situations.  
  
This is inappropriate. Inexcusable. Indecent. Hugs in the back alley, promises, and tender words - all those were for business, to gain Credence's trust. To Graves there's no such thing as 'indecent' when it comes to work. However, staying in private in your office, feeding your protege chocolate and creating awkward situations is another story. In this case, a simple clerk's meat can be a Director of Magical Security's poison. And said Director definitely should be ashamed of his fantasies about his assistant's mouth. Graves thinks himself above such things. At least he is supposed to. Especially since he has so much to lose. Graves absent-mindedly covers his chest with the palm of his hand, right where the locket is. Then he calls his secretary in.  
  
*  
  
When Credence arrives at the Muggle coffee shop, he sees that Miss Tina is already there occupying a small round table at the far corner. She waves her hand at him. She looks much happier today. At least she hasn't been crying and is visibly filled with hope.  
  
When Credence sits by her he starts talking right away.  
  
“I don't have much time. I know that they've moved Mister Scamander to the first floor. I heard he is rather well, but he doesn't speak to anyone.”  
  
Tina's eyebrows furrow.  
  
“What about his suitcase?”  
  
“I don't know where it is. But I know that they can't break the wards to get into it.”  
  
Tina gasps.  
  
“None of the Aurors can get into some case?! How is it possible?”  
  
“I don't know Miss Tina. That is all I know. I guess they want him to give away the spell or whatever is protecting the case. But he refuses.”  
  
Tina is silent. She's pondering over something, nervously biting her nails. Credence waits. He has little time but he is still willing to devote it to Miss Tina. For some reason, he realizes he would like to see her happy again. Suddenly she grabs his forearm and he almost jerks away. He is not very comfortable with other people, especially women, touching him this abruptly. But Miss Tina seems to be oblivious, all absorbed in her thoughts.  
  
“Is it possible for you to visit him?” She asks.  
  
Credence answers right away.  
  
“I'll see what I can do. I have something on my mind.”  
  
“How about parcels? Can you deliver him something bigger than a letter?” Tina digs her nails into his arm as if she's grabbing onto anything at reach like a drowning person.  
  
Credence gapes at her. She must be crazy. Of course, prisoners don't get to receive any parcels. And what would happen to him if he gets caught? But Miss Tina pulls a small sealed scroll out of her sleeve and Credence gives it a thought. If he does find a way to pass through to the dungeons, it's possible he could carry such a small item.  
  
“Sure,” he gives in.  
  
Miss Tina's face beams with a desperate smile, but it's still better than crying and biting nails.  
  
“And if it all goes well, please go see him in a day or so again. He might give me an answer to this note,” she says, overflown with joy.  
  
Credence blinks. She wants him to be a regular mediator between them. That would require a tremendous amount of stealth and resourcefulness.  
  
“I'll see what I can do.” He repeats contently. Yet in his heart, he's already prepared to do whatever it takes. For Miss Tina's sake.  
  
“I don't know if I can thank you enough,” Tina says. Then she notices that she is still holding his arm and withdraws her hand quickly.  
  
“Sorry,” she adds as Credence looks at her sharply. _Is she repelled?_ She catches that and gently pets the place she has just dug her nails into.  
  
“I'm really sorry that I have to ask you to do this. But I don't-”  
  
Her voice catches.  
  
“I know, Miss Tina. It's okay,” Credence says soothingly, “After what you've done for me it's the least I can do for you. I just really don't know if it is at all possible for me. So if I fail-”  
  
“You will not fail. I believe in you, Credence.”  
  
She's so bold and determined, it fills him with strength too.  
  
Then suddenly Miss Tina sits up. Her eyes are wide again as the realization dawns on her.  
  
“Wait a minute- You shouldn't have remembered me! The Obliviators have erased your memories about that incident!” She exclaims a little too loudly. Her cheeks flush and eyes widen. Two men behind the bar turn their heads at them.  
  
Credence thought she might come up with that.  
  
“Well. I don't know what to say to that. I didn't remember it at first but after some time I remembered you and everything that happened.”  
  
Tina is silent. She contemplates something that narrows her eyes preparing to speak but Credence doesn't let her share her suspicions.  
  
“Miss Tina, I'm really sorry. I have to go now.” He gets up.  
  
“Credence, do you know anything about your parents?” She whispers.  
  
He turns to her and leans in, whispering back.  
  
“Miss Tina, please. Can we talk about it later?” _If I'm able to talk after I perform this task of yours._  
  
She immediately gives in.  
  
“All right, Credence. Please be careful there. I'll be waiting here as always.”  
  
“I don't think we should be seen together at the same place this often. Maybe I'll let you know?”  
  
“You don't know where I live,” Tina says quietly.  
  
“I work for Mister Graves now, I'll find out.”  
  
The corners of his lips go up just a little. If things go badly, he might never see her again. He wants Miss Tina to remember him as confident as he can be right now.  
  
*  
  
_"I swear to you, Charlotte, next time I'm gonna tell on him! I don't care if his wife cooks him exquisite lunches. It's highly unprofessional to leave your post just to Apparate for a home meal, although we all know what he really leaves for (if you know what I mean). He's guarding prisoners, dammit! One day one of them escapes and there will be a scandal. All because of this sorry bastard! Maybe I want to go out during my paid working hours too for shopping or on a date but no, I have to stay at the office till it's dark outside! No one will go easy on poor me!"_  
  
The MACUSA building is quite intricate. Not only it hides on the premises of a No-Maj sky-scraper. It has as many floors below the ground as it has above. A large part of the 15th floor is designated especially for the prisoners who wait for their investigations to proceed. It's the least guarded floor. They keep more dangerous criminals on the lower levels under a better guard. Apparently, the Aurors don't find Newt Scamander particularly dangerous. There are always two men at the guard post, but for half an hour one of them, as Credence had found out, Apparates home for lunch.  
  
One guard is easier to walk by than two, Credence considers.  
  
As he approaches the guard post he barely can restrain himself from visibly shaking. There really is one guard behind the desk. He is reading some magazine and snorts occasionally, fully absorbed with whatever there is on the pages. Probably something funny. Or smutty.  
  
The sign above his head says. "Only Aurors permitted to carry wands beyond this line."  
  
"Wands and magical items only by permit." Reads another one below.  
  
The scroll Miss Tina gave him is probably charmed, so there's a good chance it counts as a magical item. Credence approaches the post on stiff legs. There's humming top looking object on the desk. Its' glass semi-sphere looks at Credence like an evil eye. _A Sneakoscope._ He braces himself for it to go off at his proximity. But nothing happens.  
  
"Wand permit." The guard says not lifting his glance from the page.  
  
"I don't have it." Credence says shortly.  
  
"Then you must leave your wand here."  
  
"No, I meant I don't have a wand with me," Credence says and adds, "At the moment."  
  
The guard looks up at him. He eyes him head to toe with a visible arrogance and disapproval. Credence tries not to look too intimidated. Guards are not the people in front of whom you want to look like prey. They respect strength. So Credence prepares himself for anything that is to come his way.  
  
"What kind of an idiot doesn't carry a wand with him?" The guard snorts. "What do they even teach you in these fancy schools?"  
  
"May I pass through?"  
  
"Not without your permit, smartass."  
  
Credence hesitantly fishes a paper out of his pocket. The permit is legit. He filled it in yesterday and had it signed. Mister Graves hadn't noticed, he didn't even care. A couple of yearning glances, one wet thumb and one invasion of personal space - all it took for Mister Graves to put his signature on whatever piece of paper Credence carefully slipped him in. Credence wonders whether in these circumstances he could have presented Mister Graves with some documents of grave importance. A death sentence maybe? Or better yet, a release form. Still, Credence thinks himself very lucky and ashamed at the same time. He committed fraud, played a trick. A small one, but still, a sin is a sin. What would Ma have said? The nape of his head goes cold and the tips of his ears burn. _All this is for Miss Tina._ If his fraud gets discovered Credence prepares to go down as a martyr, repaying his debt to her.  
  
"Have you gone deaf?!" The voice bellows right at his ear startling him.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Go now!" The guard barks at him. When Credence makes a few steps into the corridor he hears as the guard mutters under his breath: "Freaking nance."  
  
The demon jerks awake and Credence stumbles and bumps his shoulder into a wall. _Not now notnownotnow._ He makes himself think of Miss Tina's face, full of hope when they talked. He remembers the day when she saved him. _Miss Tina is waiting. The guard is just a moron._ Credence pants and clenches his fists. The demon subsides for now.  
  
The guard returns to his magazine again. He doesn't notice that the Sneakoscope lens is now cracked and fogged.  
  
***  
  
The cell is rather small and nothing there reads 'comfort'. It's empty apart from the bunk at the wall with neither a pillow nor a blanket. It's just a piece of wood, where the prisoner lies. He's fully dressed, hands across the chest and he's not sleeping, just staring at the ceiling.  
  
Credence steps closer to the bars.  
  
"Mister Scamander!" He calls quietly. The man doesn't respond. He doesn't even turn his face.  
  
Well, Credence didn't hope any part of it would be easy.  
  
"Sir!" He whispers loudly enough. "I have a message for you from Miss Tina Goldstein. Do you remember her?" _Do you remember the woman who trapped you in your own magical suitcase and given you to the Aurors?_  
  
"She asked me to tell you that she is really sorry about what happened. And to deliver you this." Credence takes out the scroll. It's small enough to be carried in a fist but is surprisingly heavy.  
  
"Mister Scamander, please. She wants to help you."  
  
"Who are you?" The prisoner suddenly gets up and swiftly approaches the barred door. Something about him seems off but Credence can't tell exactly what. The man looks at him and at the same time his mind is somewhere deep under the surface. Credence suspects that's what he himself looks like when he checks on his demon. Is it possible that the prisoner is possessed too?  
  
"Are you a friend of Tina's?" The man asks curiously.  
  
_A friend._  
  
"You can say so, sir." Credence answers softly and reaches out behind the bars. "Here, she asked me to give you this."  
  
"Oh, did she?" The prisoner snatches the scroll from Credence's hand and swiftly breaks the seal. The light in the room is dim but the writing is still visible. Then the man looks up again and now his glance is fully present and focused on Credence. His face softens and he is almost smiling.  
  
Credence suddenly remembers that he's gotten so nervous he forgot to introduce himself properly. "My name is Credence Barebone." He blurts out. "You can call me Credence, Mister Scamander."  
  
The prisoner gives out a little polite smile. His face turns kind and appealing.  
  
"Nice to meet you Credence. Please, call me Newt. Can you return later today?" He continues without a pause, obviously excited with the news. "I will write back a letter. But not for Tina, for her sister Queenie. Will you be able to deliver it to her? Queenie Goldstein? She works at the Wand Permit Department, I think."  
  
"I don't know her, but I'll find her," Credence replies.  
  
"That'd be lovely."  
  
"But Mister- Newt. How will you write? You don't have neither ink nor paper- Nor your wand..."  
  
Now Newt's face turns animated.  
  
"Ah, my friend, good question. See, Tina is a hothead, but she is brilliantly smart too. This scroll you brought for me, Tina has charmed it in a special way. It will imprint anything I will say the moment I activate it with the spell. She wrote it here for me too. And the scroll is self-expanding to a certain limit so I can put quite a lot of text here. And that is exactly what I need."  
  
Credence is awestruck with the way Newt explains things. As if he is not an accused person and a prisoner in a very vulnerable position, but an enthusiastic researcher captivated by something new and undiscovered. He makes himself useful through discovery and teaching, Credence guesses. Another sort of people, a true believer. Probably can talk for hours about what fascinates him. Credence admires the man at this moment. He also can't help but notice that Newt hasn’t asked him why he doesn’t know such things already or if he is a Savage, but he is eager to introduce Credence into the intricacies of the wizarding world without any judgment. He feels a sudden warmth towards Newt, who is so charming in his own unique way. Little wonder that Tina wants to help him.  
  
"This is really fascinating." Credence says. He looks at the scroll completely mesmerized. Every time he learns something about this new world it overwhelms him. He still cannot fully believe he is a part of it now.  
  
*  
  
As Credence walks down the corridor to the office his hear pounders. He has performed well with his task. He helped Miss Tina and got a chance to talk to another wizard apart from the few he already knew. Credence never thought he'd be in the middle of something this thrilling. Yet it's also dangerous. What if Mister Graves has discovered his little trick? It's unlikely but not impossible. Credence is quite certain he hasn't exhausted the potential of his innocent glances. To be fair he barely started. He can glance his way out of it if the situation turns out badly. He even dares to smile at this thought with a corner of his lips. _The chocolate was tasty._  
  
The memory of it fades away immediately when Miss Peerie meets him right at the door. Credence almost bumps into her and looks up. Her lips are pursed, chin up, hands akimbo. Credence's heart sinks.  
  
“You're late,” she sneers.  
  
“I was delivering messages for Mister Graves,” Credence says defensively.  
  
“Were you?”  
  
“Ask him if you don't believe me,” he holds his voice steadily so it wouldn't betray him. The thought of a good think he's been doing this morning keeps him confident.  
  
Miss Peerie's face softens yet she doesn't move.

  
“May I come in?” Credence asks hesitantly.  
  
The Secretary gives him a scornful smile.  
  
“You can. But if I were you I wouldn't.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“Mister Graves gave you a special task. So special you wouldn't want to waste a single minute here with me.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Miss Peerie looks overwhelmed with self-confidence. Her words sound almost solemn at first.  
  
“From now on you are to do an inventory in the Old Evidence room,” she proclaims, “And as far as I know it hasn't been put to rights since Ulick Gamp (1). So all the Law Enforcement Department's well-being is now in your untrained hands, little savage. Imagine the responsibility and the honor. I suppose you'll be there for quite a while so I advise you not to waste time staring at my beautiful self and chop chop before the sun is still up.”  
  
Miss Peerie looks like she's suppressing a laugh.  
  
“Mister Graves ordered me to do an inventory in some evidence room?” Credence says slowly. Miss Peerie frowns.  
  
“Not _some_ evidence room. _The_ Evidence room. At least pretend to show some respect.”  
  
“I need to see Mister Graves,” Credence tries to pass around Miss Peerie but it's a lost cause. Her scrawny figure seems to be filling the entire doorway.  
  
“You don't believe me do you?”  
  
“I just need to see him. Please.”  
  
She draws her wand out.  
  
“He explicitly ordered me not to let anyone in. Well, anyone but Miss Piquery of course. But he was very clear about you.”  
  
“He told you he doesn't want to see me?” Credence feels his ears going cold and knees shake.  
  
“Precisely. I'm not used to explaining myself or my boss' orders, not to the likes of you, but since you're too thick, there: he wants you out of his sight for some time. He said so himself. I don't know if you've messed up or just been too annoying. He told me to find some job to occupy you. So here it is,” she beams, leaning on a door post, “I can't find a better task for you. You're so meticulous and boring, you'll love it.”  
  
She chuckles again. Credence just stands in front of her trying to comprehend the graveness of this new turn of events.  
  
“Now. Go down the corridor. Take the second elevator on the left and go to the 5th underground floor. There you'll find the Keeper. He'll tell you what to do.”  
  
“Which room?” Credence asks flatly. As far as he knows every department and division has its' own room number. There can be hundreds of rooms on one floor.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The Evidence room. On the 5th floor. Which number is it.”  
  
The Secretary's laugh rings like a chime of bells. Credence believe it's sincere this time.  
  
“Oh, you haven't got it, little savage. There is only one room there. It occupies the whole floor.”  
  
***** **  
  
Darkness, dust, dead air. Endless racks crowded with all the magical items imaginable. That is the first impression Credence gets entering the Evidence room. The ceiling isn't very high yet it is intimidating in its' vastness. The lack of free space in such a large room is quite overwhelming as well.  
  
“Looks like a lotta work,” an old keeper chuckles behind him, “Here's everything from the 18th century up to 1900. I suggest you start with the oldest ones, they're back there. _Lumos Maxima._ ”  
  
A bright circle of white light emerges from the end of the keeper's wand and he points ahead. Credence can't see the back wall and there is no way of saying how far the shelves go as the light, however bright it is, only illuminates the closest ones. What can be determined for sure is that doing a full inventory here might become one's occupation for a lifetime. Credence sighs. It can't be that Mister Graves banished him here for good over some stupid mistake he's not even sure he'd made. It simply can't happen...  
  
“I told them, the place needs some cleaning and order,” the keeper says, “It's good they've finally sent someone here. Although I can see you don't have a wand, do ya?”  
  
Credence timidly shakes his head.  
  
“A savage, huh? Don't feel bad. Lots of savages became decent wizards no matter the odds. And since you're here, you must be good at something, am I right?”  
  
Credence blushes. He is rather ashamed to admit _what_ he might be good at.  
  
“Even if you had a wand, lad, it wouldn't do ya much good here. See, since no one ever bothered to catalog the stuff, you can't summon anything properly. Always have to add some ridiculous nonsense. Like _Accio blue slippers from the ghost house case where a No-Maj boy died and his mother gone mad,”_ he shouts pointing his wand ahead. First, they hear a rumble somewhere deep in the dark, then there is a distant shattering sound. A few seconds later something whooshes past Credence, hits the keeper in the chest knocking the air out of him and falls on the floor. Credence looks down. Old dusty blue slippers.  
  
The keeper coughs:  
  
“See, boy? Not very convenient. Or modern. Might have shattered a crystal ball there on the way but who counts the damn things, right?” He laughs huskily over something that's known to him only and Credence is waiting for him to finish.  
  
“Also, the guy who worked here before was a moron. He placed some things, not by the case they belong to but wands with wands, clothes with clothes, potions with potions. You see what I'm talking about? Moron. You look smart enough. I hope you do well here.”  
  
He turns around intending to leave.  
  
“Where all the new things are? Since 1900.” Credence asks curiously.  
  
The keeper beams.  
  
“Ah, lad, it's on the 5A floor. The New Evidence room. Everything's in order there I can assure you.”  
  
“But where is it exactly?” Credence tries his luck again and adds: “I'm simply curious.”  
  
“It's over there down the hall and up the stairs,” the old man waves his hand, “You're welcome to come and compare. Maybe get some tips of what is expected of you here. But you need to get a permit from Mister Graves first.”  
  
Getting permits from Mister Graves can become a problem now, Credence thinks.  
  
*  
The Day of Clothes, The Day of No-Maj Items, The Day of Magical Artifacts, Credence calls them. There was one thing Miss Peerie was right about after all. Credence doesn't find this work especially tedious. Any other person would have hanged himself on the very first day. But Credence manages not to think too much about it. He's done years of tedious dull work in his life. Doing chores. Giving out leaflets. Studying the word of God. This work is no different really. And the best way to deal with the dull work is not to think how much more there is left to do. You just work. That's the secret. You gain all the knowledge you can from it.  
  
He sleeps right in the room on the floor on a pile of rags and clothes. No one's going to need them anyway. And here it's much cozier than in his empty apartment with the missing pictures and the locked door to God knows what mysteries and most of all with this mirror Credence detests so much even now when he's covered it up. The keeper brings him food and helps him stay clean. It’s a wonder how wizards have spells almost for everything.

 

The more Credence becomes aware of the faith of each and every item in the Evidence room the closer and more dear it becomes to him. He connects with these people, witnessing the most significant moments of their lives. It feels like being in the heart of the big city, like New York. Only this is the city of lost and forgotten souls. Perhaps the Room and New York have that in common too. Credence helps these people to stay remembered. Criminals or not, all the souls are pure, no matter what Ma used to say. With all these cases and things, Credence doesn't feel lonely and _the demon_ doesn't disturb him and that's the most important thing.  
  
By now Credence has learned a great deal about some of the magical artifacts used in criminal cases. Apparently, wizards didn't lack imagination when it came to illegal activities. They used anything from simple charmed steel arms to deformed sculls of magical animals. Credence wonders what Newt would have said about the sack of pixie sculls which had been used as containers for small magical exploding devises in a war of two Wizarding clans.  
  
Today is The Day of Wands. There's a whole rack. Credence takes each of them examining it carefully and writes its' statistics to the journal. Then he places it back with the other items of the case it belongs to.  
  
Credence used to think all the wands are more or less the same - wooden sticks of medium length that define Wizards from No-Mages. Now he can see that none of them look alike. And apparently, they differ not only by the look but also by the heartstring. It's really amazing that someone can put a delicate string through the wood that empowers it and in a way gives the wand a heart of its' own.  
  
Credence looks at the spread of various wands he picked up from the shelf to examine. Embellished and simple ones, long and short ones, ones that look like sticks and ones that look like true works of art. Bendy, crooked, knobby, polished. With handles and without. Back, fair, reddish and greenish. Whole and broken. He takes the first one that has captured his attention. It's nothing special. Solid wood, no extravagance. There's a scroll attached to it.  
  
It says the wand is made of Pinewood with a Dragon heartstring core. Credence doesn't really know what this means but the wand looks good as new and fits nicely in his hand. He weights it carefully, trying to find the most natural way to hold it. Wizards probably learn all kinds of grips on the very first day at their schools. But Credence is supposed to become a wizard too one day. He wonders what his own wand would be made of and how would it feel in his hand. What kind of spells could he perform once he's mastered the craft? Well, this pine wand feels quite all right as it is. He puts it gently back into the envelope. It feels a little sad to part with it. So he takes it again to hold for a while. It's soothing and comforting. Credence reads on.  
  
The wand belonged to a man named James Clearwater. Born July, 1st, 1870, sentenced to death on May, 15th, 1892. A misfortunate young wizard. He was almost the same age as Credence is now. According to the letter, James Clearwater was found guilty of conspiracy against the Magical Council ...and _arson._  
  
Credence drops the wand as if it's a piece of red-hot iron. He even looks at his palm to see if there's a burning mark on it. His hands tremble. _What are the odds._ He makes himself put it back and further away onto the shelf. He wants nothing to do with an arsonist's wand no matter how much he's liked it.  
  
The other wand is black and slick and beautiful but it feels hostile. It lies heavily in Credence's hand and he doesn't really care for it. The name of its' former owner Priscilla Jones does nothing to Credence. She was found guilty of theft and attempted murder. Seems like the Evidence Room is filled with personal possessions of all kinds of criminals of the Wizarding world.  
  
All these people are dead now. Yet their wands, their loyal companions are left behind. Useless, forgotten. Such a shame to think how much time and effort was put into making these remarkable pieces of magical craft, Credence thinks. If it was up to him he would have put all these wands in the graves with their owners. Provided they had ones. He still doesn't have much knowledge of the Wizarding world but enough to know that wands have always been treated here almost like living creatures. They accompanied wizards from childhood till death being used as channels to bring natural magic into the world. Now they're discarded as good as the wood he burns in his grate. What a waste.

  
He gets up and takes out his quill. There's too much to be done in such a short time. Writing a list of inventory for these discarded wands he feels like he sentences them to death as their former owners. And it's not a bad thing, Credence tells himself. At least they will finally get their peace as well.  
  
*  
Several named days pass by and every evening before going to sleep Credence wonders if he's ever going to be released from his exile. He's glad to serve Mister Graves but it would be nice to see someone else's face except the keeper's. Mister Graves' face would be the most preferable. He has to admit he wouldn't mind being scolded by Miss Peerie again. Also, Miss Tina is waiting. So as Newt. They depend on him now and he is stuck in this home of the lost souls.  
  
On the Day of Crystal Balls, the tall lean figure of Miss Peerie shows up in the doorway.  
  
Not even a hello, just “Come with me, savage.” But Credence is beyond grateful. He tries to keep up after her as they go to Mister Graves' office like on his very first day here. She doesn't waste a single word on him so he has to wonder what he is going to face at the end of their walk. Is he forgiven? Has he been punished at all? How much would it take of him to get a new permit to visit Newt?  
  
Mister Graves sits behind his table, concentrated and stern as always. He doesn't lift his eyes from his reading until Miss Peerie coughs politely.  
  
“There he is Mister Graves. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”  
  
“No, Maude, thank you.” Mister Graves clears his throat and rubs his tired eyes.  
  
Before Miss Peerie all but pushes Credence into the office he notices that the artificial window shows night sky and a moon. It must be long past the working hours. He's lost all track of time during his exile. But it's not unusual for Mister Graves to be spending nights at his workplace too.  
  
Mister Graves gets up and paces slowly around his table. He looks tired and possibly troubled with something.  
  
“Are you all right Credence? I found out you haven't been sleeping in the apartment I let you in. Did anything happen?”  
  
“Nothing happened sir. I just had too much work to be done. It felt unreasonable and time-consuming to go all the way back there just to return here early in the morning-” he cuts himself in the middle of the sentence afraid that he's been talking too much. Perhaps the lack of human communication has affected him harder than he thought.  
  
“I'm sorry sir,” he adds as if shielding up from what may come.  
  
“Where have you been sleeping then?” Mister Graves asks.  
  
“In the Evidence room.”  
  
“I beg your pardon? _The_ Evidence Room? What on Earth have you been doing there?”  
  
“I thought your secr-” Credence clears his throat, “Miss Peerie sent me there to do an inventory. Sir, I thought that was your order.”

 

Mister Graves rubs the bridge of his nose.  
  
“To be honest I did tell her to find you something to do outside of here but I've never thought she would come up with something like this.”  
  
To his own surprise Credence looks at Mister Graves and speaks boldly:  
  
"Mister Graves. Have I done something wrong?"  
  
The Auror seems to be taken aback, his eyebrows once again fly up.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"You sent me away for several days. You didn't want to see me, did you? You're angry with me?"  
  
"Credence I'm not angry. I just thought it would be better for you. To look around. To explore the Wizarding world. Perhaps I shouldn't have left you alone."  
  
Something tells Credence that his boss is not being entirely honest, although he can't tell why he feels like that. Perhaps Mister Graves is disappointed in his behavior after all.Ma would have punished him for such improprieties. In fact, she did once.

 

Credence was fifteen. The gentleman was quite young and handsome. He smelled nice and seemed kind. He was going out of a shop and saw Credence giving out papers on the sidewalk. He took one and then asked for directions or something Credence can't remember. They talked a little and before leaving the man pet Credence on the shoulder. Credence returned a modest smile. It looked like a rather innocent exchange but Ma didn't think so when she saw them. Credence still bears a scar from the belt buckle on his back.  
  
The young man was not the first to take interest in Credence. He just was the only one Ma found out about. He also was the kindest of them all. A lot can happen to a teen who hangs around the streets from dawn till late at night. More things happen to the ones who, like him, have no one to protect them. The smarter ones can turn these situations to their favor.  
  
As long as Mister Graves is falling for his timid glances Credence wouldn't be looking at him any other way.  
  
“I've learned a lot in the past days Mister Graves. I am very grateful to you sir.”  
  
***  
  
The least of all Graves would like now is to scare Credence away. Even if all his thoughts and fantasies are bound to remain only in his head he would like this awkwardness between them to die out eventually. Credence stands in the middle of the room as he always does: stiff as a stick, eyes tied to the floor, shoulders sad. Graves would like to unwrap him of all the layers of self-protectiveness he's covered himself with. Of course in the upbringing Credence has gotten there's no way he should behave otherwise. But Graves believes he could change that.  
  
Now when Credence is expressing his sincere gratitude for some ridiculous thing Graves regrets having done, he realizes that his plan has failed. He thought he'd get rid of the boy and all his fantasies will fade away. But it turned the other way around. He started thinking of Credence even more than before, he was craving his presence every minute of every day. Yet he still feels guilty for taking advantage of such innocence and unawareness. If only there was a clear choice.  
  
"Credence, I'm sorry. I might have crossed the line that day."  
  
"You have?" Credence repeats uncertainly looking up from under his long black lashes.  
  
"It won't happen again. I promise." Graves assures him.  
  
"It won't?" The soft voice echoes and the words scatter inside Graves' mind. Is it him or Credence's voice sounds just a little bit disappointed? No, it can't be.  
  
"You're my protege, Credence, I promised to protect you."  
  
"Of course, Mister Graves. Does this mean you're not mad at me?"  
  
"Mad? Where does this come from?" The only way Graves can interpret this question is that it seems the poor boy really is intimidated by the position he is in.  
  
"You are not going to punish me for my inappropriate behavior?" Credence adds.  
  
Graves eyes the young man with almost professional curiosity. Credence looks vulnerable and insecure, his voice has just a little plea in it. Graves comes closer to the young man who shies away as usual, as if he's afraid the Auror will strike him this instance.  
  
"You've done nothing wrong, Credence."  
  
Credence remains, waiting. Graves steps in and finds himself way to close to the man he's promised to stay away from. He feels an urge to soothe Credence, to make him alive somehow. He forgets himself and wraps his hands around the young man's face. That doesn’t change much in Credence so Graves has to assure him.  
  
"Trust me. I'm not mad at you."  
  
Perhaps he shouldn't have come so close and touch Credence again, Graves thinks belatedly. But he did because he wanted to. And all his memories and fantasies, all the thoughts he believed he's hidden so well even from himself come back at him again rekindled by the warmth of Credence's body. This mouth he dreamed about for so long is inches away now, yet unapproachable.  
  
Credence leans into his touch, visibly eager for closeness and this small gesture swirls up a whirlpool of oppressed emotions in Graves. He cups Credence's face with both hands and turns it up to look him in the eye, but the young man still looks down as if he doesn't dare to face the man in front of him. His cheeks are slightly pink, his eyelids tremble, the line between his eyebrows grows deeper and his lips part again just a little but enough to make Graves' body react. He holds the touch and waits. Credence's breath elevate a bit and he whispers:  
  
"Mister Graves..."  
  
Then he finally looks up and his gaze is full of gratitude and admiration but is so innocent at the same time, it's unbearable. Graves knows he would regret acting upon it as much as not acting so he lets himself loose.  


*

  
With every kiss Credence's lips redden a little more, they turn hot and even more kissable. Graves can't take his mouth off of them as a wanderer in a desert who's found a source of water. He continues kissing Credence hungrily on his neck and cheeks, he messes his hair, his hands are everywhere. Credence seemingly melts into the kisses. His head falls aside and he gives out a barely audible moan every time he exhales. But other than that he does nothing as if he doesn't know how to react. Most likely he really doesn't, Graves thinks. It might as well be the first time anyone kisses him. With this thought Graves stops himself abruptly and looks at Credence who opens his eyes slowly, still panting and visibly blushing.  
  
"What is it?" Graves asks carefully. "Don't you- Have I misinterpreted your-" The right words don’t come easily to him.  
  
"No, no, Mister Graves, I like- I enjoy this very much." Credence answers clearly nervous. Maybe he _is_ overwhelmed a bit and he _does_ need permission.  
  
"You can touch me," Graves says. "Would you like to? Don't be afraid."  
  
Credence blinks and nods, he presses his palm against Graves' chest as if he wants to feel his heartbeat. He moves it up to his collar and hesitantly undoes the two upper buttons of his shirt opening his jugular. He gets a little closer so their bodies touch and gently places his lips to that small pit between Graves' clavicles. Graves barely restrains himself from grabbing the boy and wandlessly rip all his clothes off. But he manages to stay still although his heart beats against his ribs and his breath hitches. Credence moves up very slowly, placing small kisses along the man's neck.  
  
It's the road fork where he needs to pick the path, Graves thinks. It's either the dangerous one where there's no turning back. Or the safe one. Meanwhile Credence drags his hands further to the nape of his head, kissing his chin tenderly. Screw it, Graves makes his choice. He can find a way out of anything, and fear is for the weak. He wraps his arms around Credence and as their bodies press firmly together, they merge into a deep kiss and don't break it even when the force of apparition swirls them out of the room.  
  
END

(1) Minister Ulick Gamp, the first Minister for Magic, was in office from 1707 to 1718, founder of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have anything to say, please leave a comment.


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